


Cupid Stunt

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Body Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: Things go badly wrong for Dean, Sam and Castiel when a rogue cupid's arrows hit all the wrong targets. At first it's kinda funny, and then it's really, really not...





	Cupid Stunt

Notes: I started this in March 2017 and abandoned it until I finally found my mojo again this week. It's nice to have it back! I have no idea if anybody else has covered this subject as I've been out of fandom for so long, but hopefully I've managed to give it a new spin. The action is set somewhere vague any time after season 10, but doesn't really reference much and can be read as a standalone.  
**Warnings:** There's some rather nasty body horror in this, so be warned. Also: a touch of Castiel!whump and a very tiny amount of porn.

 

 

 

~ ~ ~

 

 

 

 

 

“Just when I thought it wasn't possible for angels to cock things up any more than they already have, bloody _cupids_ happen.”

Dean blinked. He looked over at Sam, who was frowning, and Castiel, who was also frowning, and then turned to Crowley and frowned himself.

“Come again?” he said.

Crowley sighed, putting his hands in his pockets and rolling his eyes. “Cupids. You know, naked archers who spend their existence making people fall in love by shooting arrows at them. The dumbest idea God ever had, and I'm including the so-called sport of _curling_ in that statement.”

“We know what cupids are, Crowley,” Sam pointed out, exasperated.

Dean thought back to meeting his first cupid several years beforehand, and the cherub's propensity for hugging people with no clothes on. He'd ended up punching the smug bastard – hugging was a sore point with him. Well, that and the fact that the cupid had informed them Heaven had worked hard to make their parents fall in love. What a dick.

But then there was that cupid he'd met while doing the trials, and she'd given him her bow when he'd asked for it. That was pretty cool of her, so they weren't _all_ embarrassingly naked and huggy.

“Why are you annoyed with them?” asked Castiel, reasonably. “Since the angels fell from Heaven they have been working doubly hard. Being unable to fly has affected their workload quite considerably. While some have been rather... peeved,” he stopped, as though he was remembering something, “the remaining cupids have acquitted themselves admirably, given the somewhat overwhelming odds against them.”

“Not admirably enough, thankfully,” Crowley said, sounding much more cheerful all of a sudden. “The world's been seriously lacking in love over the last few years. Hate is rising, people are arguing more, relationships aren't lasting... you won't get any complaints from me about _that_. You only have to spend ten minutes on Twitter to see how bitter and twisted a society with fewer love-arrows can become.” He took a step forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Castiel. “But you and your feathery chums need to keep your boys in line. When cupids go rogue, they step on my toes.”

“Are you sure it's a cupid?” Sam asked. “We thought one had gone rogue a few years back, but he hadn't. Don't they just follow orders?”

Castiel looked uncomfortable, glancing at Sam from the corner of his eyes. “I met one a few years ago who tried to kill me,” he said. “He was angry about having fallen from Heaven. Metatron saved my life by killing him.”

“They can go _bad_?” Dean asked, baffled. “They're, like, Heaven's friendliest angels! They're like puppies. Naked, huggy puppies. How do they go from that to... dangerous?”

Crowley snorted. “They're hardly squeaky clean. Before they fell from Heaven and became corrupted by humanity, there were cupids who messed up their missions on purpose.”

“I know what you are referring to, and they did not,” said Castiel, looking affronted.

“Well then,” Crowley continued, scowling at him, “perhaps they were just confused. Or stupid. Really, really, mind-numbingly stupid. But either way, they were responsible for a little condition you humans call _objectiphilia_. Instead of finding a couple of warm, living, breathing humans and popping arrows into both of their fleshy hearts, the cupids would only fire one arrow. And then love would blossom...” He tilted his head, considering the correct word, “...Oddly.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Oddly?”

Castiel looked at the floor; Dean could've sworn he was squirming. “There are humans who have fallen in love with strange things because of cupids,” the angel said quietly. “Objects, rather than people. Like trees. Or pillows. Statues.”

“One woman married the Eiffel Tower,” Crowley declared gleefully. “I've heard about others falling in love with ferris wheels or farm machinery. My favourite was the woman who adored the Berlin Wall. She thought they were meant to be together. Must've been heartbroken when it came down, although at least then she could take some of its solid, _hard_ bricks home to bed with her.”

“The humans can't help what they fall in love with,” Castiel said, still radiating awkwardness. “Whatever they were gazing at when the arrow hit them, they will adore it beyond all measure, even if it is an inanimate object. They think it has feelings, but of course these objects are incapable of loving them back.”

Sam shot his brother a pointed look. “This totally explains you and the Impala, Dean.”

Dean shot him a glare. “I love her, Sam. I don't want to make out with her. And anyway, that's impossible.”

“It does apply to cars, too,” Castiel pointed out. “Some recipients of a cupid's arrow find motor vehicles to be the perfect partner for them. As their relationships develop, they even find ways to...”

Dean turned his glare on Castiel, who closed his mouth and looked away.

“Look, I don't mind it when a cherub makes a human fall for a riveting machine or a tractor,” Crowley continued, archly, “but what I do mind is when they start firing arrows willy nilly at my demons. And my demons then turn into sex maniacs.”

“That's not possible,” Castiel observed. “Cupids' arrows don't work on supernatural beings, only humans. And they instil _love_ in the heart of the recipient, not sexual desire. That comes later from the human's own biological impulses.”

“How could you have sex with the Eiffel Tower?” Dean asked unexpectedly, suddenly filled with curiosity.

Crowley ignored him. “I have no idea what wires have been crossed during your many stupid and boring heavenly wars, Castiel, but all I know is that five of my demons have been pricked by your heavenly _prick_. Two of them have had to be chained up in separate cells because they refused to stop trying to have sex with innocent members of my crew. Two more developed feelings for chairs and, I'm afraid, I had to put them out of their misery. The demons _and_ the chairs. It wasn't pretty.”

He paused. After a few moments Sam ventured, “And the fifth?”

Crowley sighed. “He thought I was the demon of his dreams. I do not enjoy being jumped on and humped.”

There was a short, stunned silence. Then Castiel said, “It sounds as though a cupid has launched some kind of vendetta against you. It's very unusual, yes, but I don't see why we should care about it.”

“That's what I thought at first, yes,” Crowley grunted. He clicked his fingers and a rolled-up newspaper appeared; he held it out for Castiel to take. “Here. It's not just us. This cupid – assuming it's a lone wolf and not a pack of charming little cherubs – has started targeting humans, too. I suggest you look into this and take away that little bow of his before things start getting truly weird. And while you're at it, remind him that the King of Hell _does not enjoy being bloody objectified._ ”

Castiel took the newspaper and, when Dean looked up again, Crowley was gone.

“What does it say?” Sam asked Castiel, coming to stand beside him. The angel was flicking through the newspaper with a perplexed expression. He stopped on one page and started to read.

“Oh dear,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Trinny Hernandez never thought of herself as vain. The only reason she even had a mirror on the wall in her hallway was to check her hair wasn't standing on end before she stepped into the street. And so there was a moment – just a brief, fleeing moment – when she wondered what she was doing when she checked her reflection quite so closely that morning, and then...

And then...

And _then_...

“Would you look at that,” she thought, inexplicably. “I'm so pretty. Gorgeous, even. Yes, sir. I'd say I'm gorgeous. Look at me! Look at that face! I'm incredible! How have I lived all these 57 years of my life and never noticed that before? By Jesus, I want to kiss me. MmmmmMWWAh. Yes. Oh yes. But I'm so flat and cold – how do I get in there? How do I get me out of that mirror? What do I do? I want to fuck myself... I want it. For the first time in years, I want it. I want _me_! But I need to get in that... behind that surface... I'll just reach in and see what... There's gotta be a way...”

 

* * *

“It was pretty horrific, I'll tell you that,” said the medical examiner, clutching her notepad anxiously as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She stared up at Dean, her eyes wide and alarmed. “I mean, when you think that she did that to herself – there was no coercion, no drugs, nothing to alter her thought processes that we could determine... Why would someone do that?”

Sam was staring at the body on the morgue table thoughtfully. Dean just felt a bit ill. She looked like a nice woman, someone's mom, with a job and a mortgage and hobbies and favourite films and songs. And now she was just here, dead, after mutilating herself because of some rogue cupid.

“She burrowed through the mirror and deep into a brick wall using just her fingers,” continued the medical examiner, shuddering noticeably. “I've been having nightmares about it. All that blood. And her _fingers..._ Her _hands_...”

 

* * *

 

Norman Didluck was lying in the bath when it happened.

One moment he was idly soaping between his legs, thinking about how he ought to clean out his garage later, and how he probably should have had this bath tonight, rather than right now, because obviously he was just going to get all dirty again – and how if Sylvia had still been here, she would have told him that before he even set the water running. And wow, sometimes he missed her so much that it hurt like a physical force. But yeah. Still. He had to organise that garage. There was no putting it off or he'd never get his motorbike inside and out of the rain.

And then...

And _then_...

...He looked down at the fleshy white penis in his left hand and thought, “Man, I love this thing. I love it so much. Argh, I love it so much I just wanna kiss it. It's my fucking cock and I _love_ it, so help me, I LOVE IT! How can I show it how much I love it? Can I kiss it? Fuck, I can't reach. Hang on, let's move around a bit... there... no... not quite. Fuck, maybe I can get it closer to my mouth another way. Fuck fuck _fuck_. I love it so much I need to fuck it somehow. How do I fuck it? How do I fuck my penis? There's gotta be a way. There's gotta... where's my razor?”

 

* * *

_“The police spokeswoman said that in all her years in the role and in all the experience of the Miami-Dade Police Department, nobody had ever seen anything as disturbing as what greeted them at Mr Didluck's residence. The medical examiner later requested a leave of absence and the officer who first arrived on the scene has been seeing a county-appointed counsellor. The victim was found by–”_

Sam closed the laptop. “This is bad.”

Dean looked at Castiel, who was wearing a pained expression. “We have to do something about this,” he said.

 

 

* * *

 

Aaron Medina walked into the zoo.

And then...

And _then_...

 

* * *

 

_“The 36-year-old male, who family and friends say had no history of mental illness or substance abuse, appears to have approached the honey badger while removing his clothing. The attack was caught on camera by another zoo visitor. Warning: some viewers may find this footage disturbing–”_

Dean watched the clip, wincing, then turned off the motel room's television set. He glanced at Sam.

“Well, that poor schmuck might've fallen in love, but I guess honey badger _just don't care._ ”

His brother was frowning at his computer. Dean waited for a laugh, but it never came, so he moved on. “Got anything new?”

“I think there's been another one, this time in Portland. Although...” He squinted at the screen. “Actually, maybe this was just a Tinder date that went wrong.”

Dean's cell suddenly buzzed. He answered with a cheerful, “Hey! Any news on our stupid cupid?”

There was a pause before Castiel said, “I would say, according to the evidence, that this cupid is actually highly intelligent. There's no proof that he is stupid at all.”

Dean closed his eyes, counted to five, and then opened them again. “Have you had any luck finding him?”

Another pause, and then Castiel said: “Yes.”

 

* * *

The cupid looked fairly similar to the one the Winchesters had met in 2010, except that he was wearing clothes – clearly necessary, now that he had to travel from place to place on the mortal plane instead of on wings. He was plump, slightly sweaty and, much to Dean's amazement, was armed with a bow that looked as though it had been customised by a fan of steampunk and spoon-bending. In fact, Dean spent so long staring at the peculiar bow and its mangled, gleaming arrows that he almost missed what the cupid was saying to Castiel.

“I mean, it's just _not fair_ ,” the cherub was complaining. “We were decimated after the Fall, decimated, and yet you higher-ups expect us to do all the grunt work like nothing happened! Do you know how long it takes to travel from Myrtle Beach to Spokane when you can't fly? And yet I was asked to do that with no notice, no money and a time limit of six hours! How are we expected to work under these conditions? Who's fighting for our rights, eh? If one of us doesn't stand up for ourselves, nobody will!”

“Let me get this straight,” Castiel said slowly, his voice tinged with frustration, “you have killed or maimed seven humans, not to mention five demons, in unimaginably cruel ways simply because you wanted to alert the heavenly host that you want better _working hours_?”

The cupid frowned. “I just gave them love, Castiel. I didn't make them hurt themselves.”

Dean felt a surge of anger. “Tell that to Dirk Diggler and his pecker, which is currently inside a honey badger's belly.”

“It made you look, though, didn't it?” the cupid snapped back. “Now you're here! I've been trying for years to make Heaven understand what things are like for us, and all it took was a few confused humans and now you're listening!”

“You have murdered innocents,” Castiel pointed out, his voice deep and dangerous. Dean shot him an approving look. Sometimes Cas's voice made his belly go a bit funny, but he tried not to dwell on it, as that was a bit weird.

“That's why I started with demons,” said the cupid, lowering his voice in turn. He looked a little rattled. “I adapted my arrows to bring them love, as I knew the King of Hell would tell you about it. Only it took so long I got bored and thought I'd fire off a few more arrows in the meantime.”

“You adapted your arrows,” Castiel repeated flatly. “You didn't do a good job of it. Now they don't just make victims fall in love; they make them go insane, driven thus by carnal urges.”

Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel's archaic turn of phrase, then looked to Sam for support. But his brother was staring at the cupid's bow and arrow, apparently fascinated. It was pretty cool to look at, Dean agreed. It looked like it belonged in a David Cronenberg movie.

The cupid seemed puzzled by Castiel's words. “Carnality? My arrows offer love, not sexual desire. Eroticism isn't really my thing. I'm just about the heart. It is the source of all things pure and joyous.”

“Tell that to the demons who tried to screw a chair to death,” Dean muttered.

The cupid glanced at him, seemingly baffled. “I don't understand.”

Castiel reached over to pluck one of the cupid's arrows from his quiver, but the cherub jumped backwards, startled. “I wish to inspect them,” Castiel said, “to see how they have been tampered with. Surely this is beyond your abilities – who did this for you?”

“It was a witch,” said the cupid, and then frowned. “What do you mean, 'beyond my abilities'? You sayin' I'm stupid?”

“According to the evidence, apparently you're highly intelligent,” said Dean, smirking at Castiel, who seemed to fail to see the connection to their phone call earlier and simply looked away.

Sam stepped forward. “So let's get this straight. You got a witch to cast a spell on your bow and arrows, and now people are killing each other and themselves in horrible ways.”

The cupid lips twitched, suddenly looking a bit crestfallen. “Uh... I... guess so. If you say it's happening... it's, er, happening. I guess.”

“And what lesson can you take away from this?” Dean asked pointedly.

“Um...”

“Witches. Are. _Dicks_. Don't forget it.” He held out his hand. “Come on, give us your love-bow.”

At this, the cupid's eyes widened and he took two more steps back. “No! Never!”

“Dean is right,” said Castiel. “You cannot be allowed to keep such a weapon.”

“It's not a weapon! It spreads love! And it's my life!”

Sam took another step forward, making the cupid flinch. “Please, man, we need to destroy it. It's done terrible things to innocent people.”

The cupid looked at him, then Dean, then Castiel. He backed away, putting a good fifteen feet between them all as they stood and watched. Then, suddenly, he lifted the bow and nocked an arrow, so fast that it was almost impossible to see.

“Get back!” he cried, sounding panicky. “I'll shoot!”

“You wanted to raise awareness of your plight,” Castiel said calmly. “You have done that. I promise I will talk to the heavenly host about getting cupids some help. But in the meantime, give me your bow.”

“No!”

“You are being irresponsible.”

“I don't care! You have no right to tell me what to do! Just become I'm a cherub third-class, you think you're the boss of me!”

Castiel sighed. “That's because I _am_ the boss of you.”

“I have free will now!”

Sam lifted his hands. “That why it's all the more important that you don't–”

But whatever he was going to say, he didn't get the chance. The cupid let loose an arrow – whether accidentally or deliberately, it was impossible to say. It was aimed at Sam, who was standing too far away for Dean to reach, and so there was nothing he could do. There was a _twang_ , a _whoosh_ ; a flash of movement that happened before Dean could even blink, and then both Castiel and Sam had disappeared from Dean's line of sight. He blinked, stunned, then spun around to see them behind him.

Castiel had jumped in front of Sam, taking the arrow for him. The force of it had thrown him back against the wall of the warehouse – and because Sam had been behind him, he'd been thrown back, too. Both now stood flat against the wall, pinned in place by a gleaming metal arrow that protruded right from the centre of Castiel's heart.

Dean's jaw dropped. Had it gone through both of them? Was it stuck in the wall? He was just about to ask, meeting Castiel's eyes as the shaft of the arrow wobbled in the air between them, but then it suddenly disappeared as though it had never been there. The angel gave a gasp and stepped forward, freed, and behind him Sam clutched his shoulder and a twinge of pain crossed his face. But there was no blood; no sign that anything had pranged them, and so Dean's heart started beating once more.

He glanced behind him, furious, to see the cupid had gone; given that he couldn't fly anymore, that meant he had a set of heels on him. Then he crossed to take his brother's arm.

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam was blinking, shaking his head as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. He didn't answer, so Dean turned to Castiel. “Cas? You?”

Castiel stared at the door the cupid had left through, his jaw twitching. Then he turned to face him. “I am fine, Dean. Cupid arrows can't affect me.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Dean said, but he noticed Castiel looked away from him a little too quickly, and felt himself wonder if he was telling the truth. “It went through you and into Sam, though,” he continued, shelving that thought for now. “Sam? Sammy?” He clicked his fingers in front of his brother's face. “Did you get whammied?”

Sam's eyes widened a little. He didn't meet Dean's gaze; instead, his eyes drifted over to Castiel, who was still standing with his back to him. “ _Mmmph,_ ” he said.

“Was that a yes or a no?”

Sam just stared at the back of Castiel's head.

“Sam? Come on, dude, talk to me here.”

“I'm fine,” Sam said, after another pause. “Just... I'm _fine._ ”

Dean frowned. “Really? Are you whammied? Who were you looking at when it hit you?”

Sam tilted his head, his face clouding a little. “Uh... Cas...”

Castiel finally turned around, studying him with an anxious expression. “Oh no,” he said.

“But the arrow hit my shoulder,” Sam said, slowly. “It didn't... I mean, it was supposed to hit my heart... it can't mean I'm...”

He stopped. Dean watched, not knowing whether to be horrified or amused, as his little brother raised his eyes to meet Castiel's gaze. “Ah, no,” he murmured, frowning. “Cas... I don't think... I'm feeling...”

His voice trailed off, but he continued to stare at Castiel, wide-eyed, with an expression that Dean couldn't read. Dean exchanged a look with the angel – a look that said, _Crap!_ – and then both of them turned to Sam as he made a very odd noise. Half-groan, half-laugh, it made Dean's hair stand on end.

“I want it,” said Sam, his voice several octaves deeper than usual.

Castiel took a step backwards.

“I have to... I have to have it,” Sam said, taking one step forwards.

“Shit, Sammy, are you in love with _Cas_?” Dean asked, horrified.

Castiel took another step backwards, and Dean placed his hand on Sam's chest, stilling him as he tried to follow. For the first time since the arrow had hit him, Sam looked at his brother, and Dean was shocked at the way his eyes were glazed and unfocused, his pupils blown and dark. “I have to,” he whispered, sounding almost apologetic. “If I don't have it... If I don't do it... I _need_ it...”

There was something creepy about hearing him talk about Castiel as though he was an object, not a person, but that was the least of Dean's worries now. He raised a hand and took Sam by the jaw, holding his head in place and gazing intently at him. “Sam? Sam! You are not in love with Castiel. You hear me? It was an arrow. It was a trick. You've been whammied, dude, and you're not going to have sex with him on my watch.”

Even as he said the words, he knew how insane they sounded, and his hair remained in an upright position on his scalp. This was... really wrong.

Sam swallowed hard, and Dean felt the vibrations run through his fingers. His brother closed his eyes and seemed to compose himself enough for Dean to let him go, but he kept one hand on Sam's shoulder, just in case.

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“I'm okay,” Sam said, finally, sounding more like himself, but Dean saw that he kept his eyes firmly closed. “I'm fine. I can handle it. I'm sorry. I just... Cas... I can't look at you.”

Castiel shot Dean a worried look and nodded. “I understand. I'll go after the cupid. Dean, take your brother home and keep him under observation. This isn't over yet.”

Dean felt Sam shudder at the sound of Castiel's voice and couldn't really argue with that.

“Sam, be strong,” Castiel continued, turning towards the door. “I'll be back as soon as I can.” He left, the sound of his footsteps speeding up as he started to run.

“No,” Sam hissed, lifting his head, but he didn't struggle when Dean stopped him from going after the angel. “I need to...” His voice trailed off.

Dean shook him. “You good? Do you think you can make it to the car?”

“Yeah... yes. I can.”

“Good.”

Sam shuddered again, and Dean saw he was starting to sweat. “Where did it go?” he asked suddenly, and then grunted and pushed Dean's arm away from him. “I need it, Dean!”

Hell, that was just the start of it.

 

* * *

Castiel was gone for an entire day, and it was one of the weirdest days of Dean Winchester's life. Which was really saying something, given that Dean Winchester had spent many, many days in Hell itself.

It was almost impossible to get Sam to sit still in the car on the way to the bunker. He muttered Castiel's name over and over, wriggling in his seat, placing his head in his hands and whining as though he was in pain. Dean almost stopped the car a few times, but whenever it reached that point his brother would suddenly sit upright, breathing hard, and tell him to drive. So Dean did.

Sam was fighting the spell. Dean was proud of him, but at the same time he couldn't help but find it funny. His brother had been hit by a cupid's arrow and was in love with Castiel! Who said the universe didn't have a sense of humour? Of course, he had no idea what would happen if Sam never saw Castiel again: would he pine away like a heroine in some 19th-century romantic novel? Would he die? Or would the spell eventually wear off? Dean didn't know. At the moment he had faith that Castiel would find the cupid and reverse the spell; it wasn't an ordinary cupid's arrow, after all, and there must be a counter-spell to undo whatever the witch had done to it.

As he drove, however, two things kept flashing into his mind, and neither of them were welcome. The first was the image of the woman in the morgue who'd dug into the mirror with her bare hands, trying to grab and fuck her own reflection until she'd bled to death from her injuries. No way was he letting that happen to Sam, however different this situation was.

The other was the craziest, most insane feeling that he didn't like his brother lusting after Castiel because Castiel was _his_. They'd known each other for longer. They were closer. Sam was Cas's friend too, of course, but he couldn't just leapfrog Dean like that when it came to possessing him. It was dumb, and Dean kept frowning and trying to shake the thought away, but it niggled at him. And then Sam would moan, folding over in his seat and muttering something unintelligible, and Dean would forget all about it and just pray that Sam would be back to normal again.

The journey seemed to last forever, and once they were home Sam staggered down the stairs, collapsed into a chair and placed his head on the table, pillowed in his arms. Dean stared at his brother, noting how he'd removed his shirt and the t-shirt underneath was soaked through with sweat. Sam was shaking, his fists clenching and unclenching, and he was breathing as though he'd run a mile, not merely walked from the car and down a few steps into the bunker. Worried, Dean placed his hand on his shoulder and felt him jump.

“Don't touch me,” Sam snarled, the venom in his voice muffled by his arm.

“Sorry, dude,” Dean replied, chastened. “Look, you're running a fever or something. I think you should go take a cold shower.”

“I need it,” Sam murmured.

“Yeah, you do.”

“I mean _it_.”

Dean sighed. “It's Cas, man. He's not an 'it'. Man, those arrows really do turn everything into a sex object.”

“It's not Cas.”

There was a silence. Dean raised his eyebrows. “Say what now?”

Sam shifted a little, his head still buried in his arms, but Dean got the sense he was embarrassed. “Nothing.”

Dean pulled out a chair and set it beside his brother. He sat down slowly, letting out a long breath, and leaned forward. “Come on. Out with it. What the hell is goin' on here, Sammy?”

Finally, after a long, awkward wait, Sam lifted his head and turned to look at him. His face was drenched in sweat and his skin was flushed, dark eyes burning with something Dean didn't like to look at. But his expression was pained and seemed one-hundred-per-cent Sam, which at least meant he knew what he was saying.

“I'm not in love with Castiel,” Sam said quietly. “It'd probably be easier if I was.”

Dean shrugged, baffled. “Dude, you've been groaning his name for like, seven hours now. If you don't have the hots for him, I got nothin'. Care to explain?”

Sam sighed and stared down at his hands. His fingers twitched. “I wasn't looking at him when the arrow hit. Or I was, but not... how you think.”

There was another pause. Dean gritted his teeth, frustrated. “...And?”

“I was staring at the back of his head. He was in front of me, y'know? It wasn't as though I could see his face.”

Dean waited, but Sam didn't seem to want to go on. “... _And?_ ” he asked again, agonized. “Come on, you're killin' me here!”

Sam groaned and thunked his head down onto the table. “I was staring at his ear.”

“His ear?” Dean blinked. “What about his ear?”

“His left ear.” Sam's body spasmed, as though he was reacting to the memory. “I was staring at his left ear, from behind, and now I want it. I can see it in my head, every millimeter of it, and I want it. I want it more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. I need Castiel because he's attached to it, but really I just want that fucking ear.”

Dean just sat, silent. He felt his toes curl inside his boots, and not in a good way.

“I guess because the arrow didn't hit my heart, it didn't work right,” Sam continued. “It wasn't strong enough to make me want all of him. I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. None of this makes any sense. But I gotta have his ear, Dean. He's gotta let me have his ear.”

After a brief, white-hot struggle inside himself, Dean couldn't help it.

He laughed.

“This isn't funny!” Sam yelled, jumping to his feet. The chair flew backwards and hit the ground with a crash, scaring Dean half to death. His brother suddenly looked tall and terrifying, the madness gleaming in his eyes, and Dean rose too, scared for him.

“I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh,” he began, but Sam didn't let him speak.

“You don't understand, Dean! You don't get it!” he yelled. “That ear is perfect, there's nothing else in this world or any other world that I want more than that ear! I'd die for it, Dean, don't you get that? I'd die for it – I'd do anything to get it, anything at all! I've got to have it, Dean, I've got to have it!”

“Dude, chill out, it's okay–”

“No! It's not okay!” Sam was frantic now, his whole body quivering as he tried to get his point across. He gave Dean a shove, propelling him into the table. “Where is he, Dean? Where is Castiel? I need to get that fucking ear! I need it or I'm gonna die! You get him back here, Dean, you get him back here right now or I won't fucking make it!”

“Sam, please–”

Sam abruptly fell to his knees, taking Dean by surprise; he stood, impotent, gazing down at him in horror.

“Oh god, Dean, I gotta have it,” Sam wailed, sounding only half-human. “I need it. I need to fuck it, Dean. I need to fuck it. I can't fight how I feel, I know it's not real and it's just a spell, but I need to fuck it more than anything else. I'd even stop breathing if I could just fuck it for one second. Just one second! I just wanna fuck it, Dean, why isn't Cas here so I can fuck it?”

He stopped at last, hiding his face in his hands, moaning. And Dean stared at him, disgusted. Terrified.

Suddenly this was anything but funny.

 

* * *

 

Sam was calm after his meltdown. Dean gave him water – he didn't trust him with anything stronger right now – and convinced him to take a shower, which Sam did, silently disappearing into his room to grab some clothes first. The moment he was gone, Dean called Castiel.

“I haven't found the cherub yet,” the angel said, before Dean could even speak. “How is Sam?”

“He's so fucked up he makes Marilyn Manson look sane.”

“I don't know who that–”

“He didn't fall for you, Cas. He fell for your ear. Your left one. He wants to have sex with your goddamn _ear_.”

There was a long silence. Dean could almost hear Castiel frowning at the phone.

“Oh,” the angel said, at last.

“Yeah. Oh. Are you any closer to finding that damn cherub? He needs to undo this, and fast. Sam's freakin' out here.”

“I have a lead, but it's not something I can follow up myself. I have enlisted another cupid, one I have known for a long time.Wanda will find him.”

“She'd better. What happens if Sam doesn't have sexual relations with your ear? Do these spells just burn out, or is he going to be obsessed with your lobes forever?”

Castiel hesitated a moment, apparently still trying to deal with the news that his ear had suddenly become Sam's object of carnal desire. “I am not certain as to what the witch's spell has done to these arrows,” he said. “I suspect he will become ill, burning with unrequited lust. I also suspect it could be permanent.”

Dean sighed. “So he's gonna want to stick it in your ear for the rest of his life? Man, that's not good.”

“Even if he did 'stick it in my ear', I'm afraid it wouldn't make any difference. The feeling will never go away. It would only be a momentary relief. And it's not... physically possible, either way.”

“Yeah, this would bring a whole new meaning to 'aural sex',” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “I'm gonna have nightmares until the day I die.”

“I think I may be able to help him a little,” Castiel continued. “I know a charm that might soothe him. Take the edge off, so to speak. I should be with you by morning.”

“Anything you can do, man. He's not doing well.”

Castiel paused before saying, “I am sorry this happened, Dean. Perhaps the cupid was right: Heaven should have done more to help them with their new workload.”

Despite everything, Dean chuckled. “Freakin' labor disputes in Heaven. It gets more like Earth up there every time I hear about it.”

 

* * *

 

When Castiel arrived at the bunker the next morning, Sam took one look at him and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. Or, Dean corrected himself, he took one look at his _ear_ and lit up like a Christmas tree. Castiel himself didn't matter as much as his head-handles. Perhaps it was because of a lack of sleep – Sam had been awake all night, ranting and raving between bouts of lucidity – but Dean was starting to find this whole thing funny again.

“Hey Sam, your one true love is here! Come on in, Dumbo!” he quipped, flashing a grin at Castiel, but when Sam looked as though he was going to run across the room and leap on the angel – and Castiel's eyes widened and he looked a little scared – Dean realised it probably hadn't been the most tactful thing to say.

“Please don't come any closer, Sam,” Castiel said, lifting a hand before him. “You are not in control of yourself, but I am still stronger than you and I don't wish to hurt you.”

Sam gulped down a few deep breaths, clutching at a column and staring at Castiel – well, his left ear – with dark, strain-filled eyes. Dean froze, wondering if his brother was strong enough to fight this, then breathed a sigh of relief when Sam's gaze dropped to the floor and he nodded.

“It's okay,” he rasped. “I won't go near you. I can... stay here.”

“Good,” Castiel said. He shot Dean an anxious look and beckoned him over. Dean went, leaning in conspiratorially, and they lowered their voices so Sam couldn't hear.

“My colleague is searching for the cupid and expects to have him apprehended in the next day. In the meantime, I need to anoint your brother with this oil.” Castiel held out a small white jar that looked as though it was made of a conch shell. “But the closer I get to him, the more agitated he will be. You must restrain him.”

Dean frowned at the jar. “What will this do?”

“It will calm him. You have a drug named Valium – it is essentially the mystical equivalent of that.”

“We could just give him a Valium.”

“That wouldn't work.”

“Yeah, figures.”

Castiel shot a look at Sam, who was still standing by the column, staring up at the ceiling and taking deep breaths. Dean thought it looked as though he was summoning help from on-high to keep from jumping on Castiel and raping his ear to death. Just the thought of it made Dean swing between horror and hysterical laughter.

“Your brother seems to be handling the spell well,” Castiel observed. “I am surprised at his resoluteness.”

“He's been up and down. A few hours ago he was pretty much climbing the walls.” Dean sighed. “It's been kinda hard to watch.”

“Again, I am sorry this happened, Dean.”

He met Castiel's gaze. The angel stared at him, unblinking, for what seemed to be a peculiar length of time, before seeming a little flustered and glancing away.

Dean felt a sudden, totally unexpected frisson run down his spine.

“Cas?” he asked, lowering his voice even further. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Castiel said, removing the lid from the jar and stepping away. “We should do this now.”

He was lying. Dean knew it. He didn't know how, but he did. Castiel had stared at him for no reason – really stared at him, like he wanted to say something. And back when the arrow had hit him, hadn't he acted a little strangely? As though he was hiding something? Dean remembered feeling as though something had changed, but then he'd forgotten all about it until just now.

Had... had Castiel been affected by the arrow through his heart after all?

And hadn't he been looking right at _Dean_ when he'd been hit?

“Sam, I'm going to come a little closer,” Castiel was saying, and Dean forced himself back into the present. If Castiel was harbouring some kind of fiery lust-spell passion for him, he was hiding it a damn sight better than Sam was. So at least there was that.

“Okay,” Sam replied, his voice small and strangely un-Sam-like. “Dean said you want to use a charm on me. Will it really help?”

Castiel nodded. “It will. Dean might have to hold you in place, is that okay?”

“I'm... I'm fine,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with pain, but there was determination in there, too. “I think I have it under control right now. As long as... you're quick.”

“I will be.” Castiel moved towards him. Dean went to stand at Sam's side, poised to help, but his brother seemed calm enough, much to his surprise. Perhaps the shock of seeing Castiel had rendered him numb or something. Either way, Dean wasn't looking this gift horse in the mouth.

Castiel lifted the jar and poured a small drop of a silvery substance onto his finger. “I'm going to put this on your forehead,” he explained, meeting Sam's eyes. “Be still, just for a moment.”

“Okay.”

Castiel's finger rose, and then Sam moved so quickly that Dean had no chance to react. A fist landed in his stomach and he went flying into a bookshelf, falling to his knees amidst a shower of hardbacks, winded. It took at least ten seconds for him to regain his senses, pain spiraling through his midriff like electricity... but when he did finally recover and look behind him, what he saw took his breath away more thoroughly than Sam's fist had done.

Castiel was on the floor, his face twisted in agony. He was clutching at a huge red stain on his side, just below his ribs. Sam was leaning over him, an angel blade in his hand.

And he was trying to saw Castiel's ear off with it.

Everything went blurry for a few seconds as Dean tried to comprehend what he was looking at. Then he shot to his feet, yelling, and propelled himself into Sam with all of his might. His brother fell to the ground with a grunt and a _clang_ as the angel blade hit the floor and skidded away, and then Dean couldn't register anything else as Sam was fighting him like a wildcat, all teeth and nails and knees and elbows, nothing like the trained, capable fighter Dean knew he was. This was instinctual; this was Sam as an animal, desperate to defeat a predator in any way possible; it was all Dean could do to stop him from arching upwards and ripping his throat out with his teeth. The whole time Sam screamed at him, guttural and terrifying: “Let me have it! Let me fuck it! I need it, I need it, _I need it!_ ” while Dean held him down as though both their lives depended on it.

A bloodied hand appeared from somewhere behind Dean, making him jump. It reached down and touched Sam's forehead, leaving a trail of silvery gloop on his skin and instantly stilling him. Castiel murmured some words Dean didn't recognise, words that made his skin tingle at their very sound, and then Sam collapsed back onto the floor as though someone had unplugged him, eyes rolling up into his head and his whole body going limp.

Everything went silent. All Dean could hear was his heart thudding in his ears and his lungs desperately drawing in breath. He waited a few moments, checking to see that Sam wasn't faking, but it was real: he was out of it. Then Dean rolled sideways onto the floor, lying on his back and panting, placing a hand on his sore stomach ruefully. Then, once he felt human again, he lifted his head to look for Castiel.

The angel was standing over them, hands loose at his sides, staring down at Sam. Dean's eyes widened at the sight of a knife wound on his left side that was pouring blood and grace-light, and another cut on the side of his head that had coated his face, shirt and coat in scarlet. A tiny line of bleeding light where his ear met his skull showed that Sam would have succeeded in removing his entire ear if Dean hadn't stopped him.

The scheming little fucker had been planning it all along, Dean thought, stunned. No wonder he hadn't freaked out when Castiel had arrived. He'd figured out exactly what to do: one stab to the torso was enough to incapacitate Castiel long enough to hack off his ear. Clearly Sam was happy to almost kill his friend to steal the damn thing. Maybe he would've even cut Castiel's throat if the angel had carried on struggling! After all, the only thing Sam had wanted was the ear; it wasn't as though Castiel was part of the package.

 _Fuck,_ his brother was really screwed in the head. Dean felt nauseous.

“You okay?” he gasped eventually, sitting up.

Castiel turned to look down at him. Beside the blood on his face, his skin was ashen. He blinked and looked down at his side, lifting a hand to touch it; the light shone through his fingers, and Dean gulped in dismay.

“I think I may need your help,” Castiel said, sounding annoyed, and then his entire body buckled and he hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

 

* * *

“Cas? Cas? Wake up, dude, come on.”

Dean held the padding to the angel's side, soaking up the blood with one hand and rummaging in the medical kit for some bandages with the other. Shit, shit, _shit._ This was bad. He didn't think Castiel was going to die; he'd seen him with injuries from angel-blades before, and he always healed himself eventually. And it wasn't as though Sam had pranged him through the heart or anything. But right now he _really_ needed him awake; he had no idea how long the spell would keep Sam unconscious, for starters, but much more importantly he had no idea how to contact Castiel's cupid friend. And that meant that if Castiel didn't wake up, they could miss their chance to break this goddamn spell. Dean couldn't have that, not now he'd seen how crazy his brother was.

A chill ran down his spine as he remembered how Sam had behaved all that time when his soul had been missing – uncaring, immoral, violent. He couldn't live through that kind of shit again, he just couldn't. He needed Sammy back, and Castiel was his only hope.

“Cas? Come on, man, open your eyes. Cas? I need you awake, dude, come on!”

He patted him on the cheek that wasn't coated in blood, and to his relief Castiel twitched. His eyes moved rapidly behind his lids and Dean held his breath, hoping, as they flickered open.

“...Dean?”

“Hey, welcome back. How you feeling?”

Castiel stared at him blearily, then looked down at his side, glowing under the dressings in Dean's hand. “Ouch,” he hissed. “That hurts... why are you...?”

“I'm trying to stop the bleeding,” Dean explained apologetically. “I have to use pressure. Sorry, Cas. Unless you can use your mojo on it?”

Castiel frowned. There was a pause and then he closed his eyes, looking exhausted. “No. Maybe in a little while. It's too new.”

“Okay, well, I'll just have to keep doing this, or you're gonna bleed out all over the bunker. I'm gonna give it another five minutes and then I'll start bandaging it. Hopefully it will have slowed by then.”

Castiel's eyes opened again and he looked across at Sam. “You have to get your brother secured,” he said, his voice deep and rasping. “The charm will only last for a few hours.”

“Noted,” Dean said, unwinding bandages with his one free hand, which was just as difficult as it sounded.

“I'm not sure the charm will last that long this time, though. I wasn't at my full strength when I cast it. You should... _owww._ ” He grunted, his body jerking a little under Dean's hand.

“Sorry. Your grace is kinda burning my hand a bit.”

Castiel grunted again, then fell still. “Dean. Go and see to your brother. I can wait.”

Dean hesitated, but he caught the look in Castiel's eyes and knew that if the angel was right and the charm hadn't been fully cast, he'd be fighting off a hormone-crazed sex maniac all over again. He picked up Castiel's hand and placed it on his side, swapping it for his own. “Hold that there, okay? You know the drill.”

“Sadly, yes,” Castiel muttered, clenching his jaw in pain, a look that Dean was all too familiar with. He patted him reassuringly and rose, grimacing a little at the bruised muscles on his torso.

Even without the bruises, it was tough work dragging his ten-foot-tall lump of a brother into the dungeon the bunker had been equipped with. It was even tougher lifting him into the chair at the center of it, so Dean decided to forego that effort and just chain Sam by his wrists and leave him, sitting up, in one corner. He checked and double-checked the locks, knowing how resourceful he was, and was just about to leave, satisfied, when it occurred to him that Sam wasn't so much _resourceful_ at the moment as he was driven by some kind of wild, primal _urge_. Suddenly Dean had visions of his brother gnawing his way out of the manacles by chewing off his own hands like a fox caught in a trap, and Christ, he was seriously never going to sleep again after this.

And so, reluctantly, he unchained him and heaved him into the chair after all, securing his hands by his sides and his ankles to the ground. It didn't look comfortable, but Sam remained firmly out of it and Dean knew he wouldn't be himself when he woke up anyway, and so he'd just have to live with it for now.

He lingered for a few moments, gazing at Sam and thinking over the fact that his brother had actually done what he had done. The idea of him cutting off Castiel's ear was bad enough, but whenever Dean considered what would have come next – how Sam would have tried to _have sex with it_... Bile rose in his throat and Dean choked, swallowing, placing a hand over his eyes.

That fucking cupid.

“You're gonna get through this,” Dean said out loud, and leaned forward to gently place a hand on his unconscious brother's head. “This isn't you, and it's all gonna be okay. You hear me, Sammy? You're gonna be fine.”

Sam didn't respond, and Dean left him in the dungeon. On the way back to the library, however, he grabbed a bottle of Jack and started swigging.

 

* * *

Bandaging Castiel's side ended up being a lot more complicated than Dean was expecting, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the wound.

There was no way to do it while the angel was wearing his coat, jacket and shirt, and so Dean helped him to remove the blood-soaked clothes while thinking nothing more than _I need to stop this bleeding, fast._ However, the moment Castiel was leaning back against the wall with no shirt and his eyes fixed on Dean's face – staring – all of Dean's suspicions from earlier came flooding back, and suddenly he was convinced all over again that Sam wasn't the only one who'd been bewitched by that arrow.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“I should have predicted that Sam would attack me,” Castiel said, which wasn't really a reply to the question Dean asked. “I knew the spell would make him desperate. I was foolish.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean muttered, unwinding another bandage. “And just how did you know the spell would make him desperate?”

Castiel looked a little confused. “Because we saw how it affected those other victims.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said again, and he froze for a moment, gazing down at the bandage in his hand without really seeing it. Fuck. He was certain that Castiel was in love with him. He knew it. He could see it clear as day in the angel's eyes every time he'd looked at him since that damn arrow had hit. He was stronger than Sam, different; celestial. He wasn't trying to climb Dean like a tree – he was able to keep his emotions at bay. For that, Dean was grateful. But now Castiel was right in front of him, half-dressed, his skin shining with sweat and panting a little from the pain, and Dean was kneeling so close that he could feel the heat coming from his body.

This was beyond awkward. And the weirdest part was, Dean could feel Castiel's eyes on him right now, even as he stared uselessly down at that bandage in his bloodstained hand. And... he _liked_ it.

“Dean?”

He cleared his throat, glancing up. “Sorry. Just... processing. I'm still kinda freaked out.”

“I understand.” And fuck it, Castiel was looking at him serenely, like Dean was the center of the universe, and it was too much.

“Okay, I need you to lean forward a bit so I can wrap this around you,” Dean said quickly, managing to stop his voice from croaking. “Come on.”

Castiel leaned forward, a small gasp of pain escaping his lips, and Dean reached his arms around his back with the bandage, leaning in close to him in the process. He felt Castiel's breath on his ear and heard the angel draw in a hitched, fluttering lungful of air before Dean made himself lean back again, trying to keep his eyes away from Castiel's nipples, so aware of his nakedness that it was making his hands tremble.

There, it was done. Except... dammit, he was going to have to lean in again to wrap the next bit.

“One more,” he said, and wound the bandage around his patient again. This time he found himself brushing Castiel's sides with his arms, and his forehead accidentally touched Castiel's left shoulder. Again, he felt warm air on his skin and heard Castiel draw in a breath that he was positive had nothing to do with his injury and everything to do with Dean's proximity. When Dean leaned back, Castiel had closed his eyes. As Dean tied off the bandage, he noticed that he wasn't the only one shaking here.

“You need to rest, Cas.” He couldn't believe how calm he sounded.

“It no longer hurts as much,” Castiel said, evasively. “I'm feeling much better already.”

“Yeah? You're shaking.”

Castiel opened his eyes. His gaze met Dean's and then he lowered them again immediately. “I am cold,” he said, which was blatantly untrue, because Dean could feel the heat of his skin and knew he hadn't gone into shock.

He wasn't cold. He was lying.

Dear god. Castiel was _in love with him._

Dean sat back on his heels, taking a deep, steadying breath. First things first: he studied the freshly bandaged wound and knew it was adequate. He looked up at the cut above Castiel's ear and saw it was already half the size – the light had almost stopped pouring out of it. He still needed to clean off all that blood, assuming Castiel didn't want to just wait and do it himself when he was recovered, but everything was good again. Sam was secured, Castiel was healing, and now all Dean wanted to do was say what was in his head.

“I know that arrow affected you, Cas.”

Castiel's gaze shot upwards and he glared at him, eyes wide. “It did not.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. That's why you keep staring at me like a lovestruck schoolgirl. I'm not an idiot, Cas. I know you were looking at me when that arrow hit and I can see you're obsessed with me now.”

Castiel just stared at him, mortified, then he shook his head. “You're wrong.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean's heart leapt in his chest as he made a quick decision. He placed a hand on Castiel's cheek and leaned in close, staring intently into his eyes. Castiel flinched. He made what seemed like an involuntary whimpering noise and his gaze darted away. Dean sat back again, watching as Castiel suddenly couldn't look at anything except the floor.

“Yeah. Busted.”

“I didn't want to tell you,” Castiel mumbled, after a pause.

Dean sighed, feeling both triumphant and, weirdly, a little sad. Castiel sounded despondent; this wasn't exactly what Dean would call romantic. But then again, it wasn't real; an angel hadn't really fallen in love with him. So it wasn't supposed to be.

“Can you control it?” he asked, businesslike. “I don't want you to get worse, leap on me and start grinding away.”

Castiel's jaw moved up and down for a few moments, comically. “I, er...” He cleared his throat. “I'm an angel, Dean. Angels do not _leap_ and _grind_.”

Dean couldn't help but grin at that. “Right. Well, that's good news, anyway. But why didn't you tell me? I know it's just the spell, Cas, I wouldn't take it personally.” Even as he said it, he felt weird. Like he was rejecting Castiel, which was crazy, because Castiel wasn't really in love with him. Sam didn't really want to fuck an ear canal, either. It was just... magic.

“I thought you would be embarrassed,” Castiel said, gazing at the floor again. “And you had enough to worry about with Sam.”

“Yeah, I can't argue with that.”

A silence fell. Dean suddenly found he couldn't think of what to say. Castiel sat before him, trembling, his shoulders heaving as though he was gearing himself up for something physical, but he didn't move. It was starting to feel uncomfortable, and Dean racked his brain to think of what to say, but it all sounded too – well, flippant. _I know I'm irresistible, man, I understand. Yeah, I'm hot stuff. I'm surprised you can keep your hands to yourself! You have great taste, Cas, I gotta say._ But there was another part of him, a tiny, secret, unexpected part, that wanted to tell Cas it was okay, he had nothing to be embarrassed about. It felt good to know someone felt that way about him. It was pleasant being the subject of one of Castiel's stares. It always had been, really, given that he was usually Mr Stare-A-Lot, but it meant more now. It was endearing. It was... _thrilling._

“I've never felt like this before,” Castiel said suddenly, after apparently coming to a decision.

Dean met his gaze, feeling his skin prickle at the earnestness in his voice.

“My whole existence, I was alone,” the angel continued, speaking quickly. “The only thing I loved was God, but God wasn't there, so it was one-sided. I was empty, Dean. I was empty my entire existence. And I have lived a very long time. Eons, alone. I never minded. I never knew the difference. I couldn't miss what I didn't know, and for most of that time I didn't even have emotions. But then I met you...” He stopped, the words drying up, and he swallowed audibly, looking a little panicked.

Dean jumped in, taking pity on him. “Cas, you don't have to tell me this. Once we break the spell, I don't want you regretting anything. I know this isn't real and I know it's not really how you feel–”

“I look at you now, Dean, and I want you,” Castiel said hurriedly, his eyes wide and terrified. “Angels don't want sex: it's not the way we're made. But because it's you... I do. I _want_ you.” His voice cracked and he stopped again, just for a moment. “I don't just want you carnally, either,” he continued, lowering his voice. “There's more to this... spell than that. I want you because you are Dean, and you are the most important thing in the universe to me. And now I understand that.”

All the air left the room. Dean felt as though his heart had stopped beating; he was sure his face was as red as Castiel's bloodstained cheek.

“I want you to know that I love you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, and he slotted his fingers through one of Dean's hands so that they were palm-to-palm. Dean could feel how clammy his skin was. He could sense him shaking. He could hear Castiel's breath catching in his throat, as though he was trying desperately not to cry.

They both stared down at their hands, silent, and Dean couldn't for the life of him figure out what to say or do.

And then, somewhere in the bowels of the bunker, Sam started to scream.

 

* * *

 

Dean ran into the dungeon, forgetting everything that had just happened, responding only to the sound of his little brother suffering. Sam was straining against his chains, roaring with fury and despair, spitting and cursing like a demon. The tendons on his neck stood out like cords as he thrashed, and Dean found himself wondering if the chains were going to hold before remembering they'd held more supernatural creatures than he knew. A supernaturally bewitched human was surely no match for them.

“I need that ear, Dean!” Sam screamed at him, his voice cracking. “Get me that ear or I'm going to die! Find Cas and bring him here! I need it – I need it – I need that ear!”

“Yeah, I kind of got that already,” Dean said, keeping his voice calm. “There's no need to shout.”

“ _I need that fucking ear!_ ”

Dean studied his brother for a few moments, holding his breath, before making a decision. He picked up the leather gag lying on a nearby shelf.

“I think it's about time we shut you up,” he muttered, leaning over to secure it to Sam's face, but his brother flinched backwards and jerked his head sideways.

“Get off me, you freak!”

“I'm the freak? Seriously? You just tried to hack off an angel's ear, you nutjob!”

“I couldn't... I had to...” Sam's voiced trailed off. His body went still.

Dean tilted his head, puzzled, but still wary. “Sammy?”

Sam drew in a heaving, gasping breath. “Is he okay?”

“You nearly gutted him, so what do you think?”

Sam closed his eyes. “I'm sorry. Tell him I'm sorry. I can't... control this.”

Dean relaxed a little, sighing. “Yeah, we get that. Just hang in there, okay? We'll have the cupid that zapped you soon, and hopefully he can undo the spell.” He patted Sam on the shoulder. “When Cas is on his feet I'll bring him in here and we'll put you under again. You won't even notice the time passing.”

Sam groaned. “I can't stop thinking about his ear.”

“You shock me.”

“It's just... it's just _there_ , in my head... I keep seeing it...” He let out a deep growling noise and tugged against his chains. “You've gotta bring it to me, Dean. You've gotta. I'm gonna die unless I fuck it, you hear me? Do you want to kill me?”

“And he's back,” Dean grunted, lifting the gag. “Open wide! I'm not listening to you lusting over an ear-hole for the next day, sunshine.”

“You son of a–”

Dean secured the gag, scowling at Sam with all of his might. “Yeah, whatever, so bite me. Except you can't. So I win.”

 

* * *

Dean had to take several steadying breaths before heading back out to see Castiel. He was suddenly bone-weary, his lack of sleep catching up with him, not to mention the emotional rollercoaster his brain had been on for the past few days. And now, on top of everything else – on top of the fact he'd had to tie up and gag his own goddamn brother – Castiel had _confessed his undying love._ Spell or not, that was a complete and utter headfuck... mainly because a part of Dean, somewhere deep, deep, deep down inside him, a part he hadn't even known had existed until this week, had _enjoyed hearing it._

He leaned against a wall, closing his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered.

He had no idea how to handle it. He couldn't even think about it: it was too much. It felt as though his brain had told him “Enough!” In fact, he decided right then and there that he'd pretend nothing had happened; it was the only way he could deal. He was too tired. Some day, when Cas was cured and Sam was back to his old self and everything returned to its usual, non-magical-whammied-normality, Dean would look back on this and laugh. At this moment, however, all he wanted to do was to make sure Cas was healing and then grab some sleep. Just a couple of hours, no more: enough to help heal his brain enough to deal with the next round of shit that was due to be thrown at him.

Because if there was one thing Dean did know for sure, it was that there was always another round of shit.

And so he peeled himself away from the wall and strode into the library, determined to act as though everything was just the same as it always had been between him and Castiel.

But to his surprise, Castiel had news.

“Wanda has found the cherub,” the angel said, grunting a little as he tried to sit more upright against the wall. He waved his phone at Dean. “Even better – she says he led her to the witch who put the spell on his bow.”

Hallelujah! A lead at last. “Anyone we know?” Dean asked.

Castiel grimaced. “I suspect you can guess.”

“Rowena.” Because of course it was.

A nod of confirmation. “Wanda is with the cherub and they're awaiting instructions. Neither are strong enough to confront her. What do you suggest we do?”

There was a pause as Dean considered it. Then he pulled out his phone. “Let's see what Crowley thinks of the fact his dear old mom made his demons horny.”

 

* * *

 **@fashion_pash87** So I'm covering the gala, guys! Everybody looks amazeballs  & I should be interviewing the celebs in a bit, once they hit the red carpet. And I think I just saw Scarlett Johannson in Valentino!

 **@fashion_pash87** ...whoops Johansson, I always spell that wrong. Also I overheard one of the other TV crews say she's in Versace, so I clearly know nothing... don't tell my boss haha...

 **@fashion_pash87** There's a woman here wearing the most incredible green sequin dress  & her hair is EXACTLY the red color I've been wanting all my life. Gonna try to get a picture with her, I think she must be famous cos she looks like she owns the red carpet! Don't recognize her tho...

 **@fashion_pash87** This is so freaky i keep taking pictures but they all come out with her face blurry, I think my new iPhone is fucked, dammit

 **@fashion_pash87** Seriously, now Jorge's camera is broken too, it can't seem to film her at all, it's like she's deflecting us or something. Maybe her dress is too much for lenses to handle! haha

 **@fashion_pash87** yeah this is getting annoying now, I don't understand why we can't take photos of her. Some of the other press are having the same issue, and nobody knows who she is, but she's like super-super-charismatic and is giving interviews to everybody...

 **@fashion_pash87** Overheard someone say she's called Mina, I think? Wow her hair is so red and her eyeshadow is TO DIE FOR, she's coming my way in a few minutes as she's working the line. Can't wait to find out who she is!

 **@fashion_pash87** I can't take my eyes off her, she's bewitching!

 **@fashion_pash87** OK this is even weirder now, I interviewed her and Jorge filmed it but it didn't record properly AND I can't remember what I asked her and Jorge can't remember either. WTF GUYS. It's like we have amnesia! I think she was Irish though, her accent was really strong...

 **@fashion_pash87** IT GETS WEIRDER, nobody on the red carpet can remember what she said to them either, and nobody's interview recorded. Who is this woman? She's talking to Buzzfeed now, they look like they don't know who she is but they're fawning over her cos she's clearly SOMEONE.

 **@fashion_pash87** OMG THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION AT THE GALA!

 **@fashion_pash87** I'm OK, i'm OK

 **@fashion_pash87** Wow, that was intense, guys. It was something to do with that redheaded woman! Some guy started talking to her – he was British because I heard him asking her something about a bow. She wasn't wearing any bows, but that's cos they're soooo last year

 **@fashion_pash87** They started arguing and he called her “mother” which was a bit creepy because they looked the same age and then suddenly there was a ton of fire and a big bang and they were gone! There's, like, scorch marks on the red carpet where they were standing!

 **@fashion_pash87** We don't know if they're dead, maybe they spontaneously combusted? But they're gone anyway, and the crowd started screaming and everybody panicked and ran

 **@fashion_pash87** I think I saw Scarlett Johannson get knocked over by Taylor Swift, but there was a lot of smoke so I'm not sure, anyway she fell on her ass

 **@fashion_pash87** DAMMIT Johansson

 **@fashion_pash87** The gala's cancelled, everybody's being told to go home, the fire trucks are here and the police and I need to get this on film, gotta go, guys.

 **@fashion_pash87** I do wish I knew what colour hair dye that woman used...

 

* * *

 

Dean was checking on Sam – and wishing Castiel was well enough to lay another tranquilizer whammy on him – when suddenly Crowley appeared in the dungeon, making him jump out of his skin. The demon wasn't alone: he shoved the cupid in front of him. The cherub was holding his freaky bow and had his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

“So,” said Crowley brightly, casting a look over at Sam struggling against his chains in the chair, “I hear you guys were stupid enough to get pranged by this guy. How's that been for you?”

Sam made a low rumbling sound in his chest, every muscle flexing painfully as he strained to get free. His hair was dripping into his eyes and his skin was the color of porcelain. Dean had had enough of seeing him like this and, consequently, was in no mood for Crowley's humor. “Yeah, it's been a blast,” he grunted, and took the cupid's arm. “Fix it. _Now._ ”

“I didn't mean to,” said the cherub, his voice as resentful as a teenager's after being told to clean his room. “I didn't know this was going to happen. She tricked me.”

“It seems my lovely mother thought up this entire scheme as a way of playing a joke on me,” Crowley explained, looking pained. “Pretend to sympathize with the cupid... bewitch a few demons... get on my nerves. Of course, she didn't expect this idiot to fire off his arrows at actual humans.” He shoved the cupid to emphasize the point. “Not that she cares, of course. If anything, she thinks the deaths were hilarious.”

“Rowena's all heart,” Dean snapped. “Where is she? She needs to take this goddamn curse off my brother.”

Crowley pointed at the cherub. “Chuckles here can do it. She's reversed the spell, but in order for it to work properly, he has to fire his arrows into everybody he shot the first time. Sam's his first attempt.”

The cherub raised his bow, but Dean stood in front of it, suspicious. “How do we know she reversed it? For all we know, she's made it worse. I don't trust that red-haired maniac.”

Crowley looked smug. Which was, of course, his usual look, but he looked even more smug than was customary this time. “Because I got Chuckles to fire an arrow at her when she wasn't expecting it,” he grinned. “And after she'd spent an incredibly awkward hour trying to rip Ryan Seacrest's clothes off and finding he wasn't too keen on the idea, she agreed it was time to call it a day.”

“Ryan... _Seacrest?_ ”

“She was attending an awards ceremony,” supplied the cupid helpfully. “There were security guards. I don't think they'll want to work for Ryan again.”

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. “Okay,” he muttered, then opened them again. “Look, if you're certain this will work...”

“No tricks,” said the cupid. “It'll work. The spell will disappear. Honest. Cross my heart.”

He gestured with the bow and Dean slowly moved to one side. Behind him, Sam was staring at them all with a furious expression, still making that weird growl in his chest. And then...

The arrow flew. It hit Sam square in the heart, making his head snap back, and Dean watched in trepidation as he went scarily still in the chair.

“Who or what did the Moose fall in love with, anyway?” asked Crowley.

“Long story,” Dean murmured. “In fact, it's quite an earful.” He leaned over his brother, studying his face. “Sam? Sammy? Are you back with us?”

Sam shuddered. Then he leaned forward, meeting Dean's gaze, and it was instantly obvious that he was cured. His eyes were wide and he looked utterly mortified. He looked down at the chains and then back up at Dean, frowning, and Dean removed his gag to see what he had to say for himself.

“I'm going to kill you,” Sam croaked, glaring at the cupid. “Dean, let me go. I'm going to knock his stupid cupid teeth down his stupid cupid throat. Don't you dare try to stop me, Crowley. He's _mine._ ”

The cherub took a step backwards, terrified, but Crowley laughed and patted the cupid's shoulder protectively. “Well, aren't you just the cutest pissed-off loverboy? Sorry, Sam, but I need to take this little chap back with me to Hell to cure my demons. Hands off.”

“If I can't have him, I want Rowena,” Sam half-shouted, tensing his body so hard that Dean had to slap him softly to get him to relax – the chains wouldn't unlock when they were stretched to their limit.

“Rowena's my problem,” Crowley sniffed. “She and I will be having a little talk later. In fact, I should probably get back to where we left her.”

“Wait!” Dean undid the last of Sam's chains and put a hand out, urgently. “You need to cure Cas. He's in the other room.”

The cupid's eyes narrowed. “Cure him? What of?”

“The spell, dumbass. Remember you shot him as well as Sam? It was a two-for-one deal.”

“But he's an angel,” the cupid said, shaking his head. “Our arrows don't affect our bosses. That would be insane.”

“Yeah, well, whatever Rowena did to your bow, it affected him too,” Dean pointed out, as Sam started rubbing his arms and rolling his shoulders beside him. “Come on, you haven't finished.”

“But it's impossible,” insisted the cupid. “You can't make an angel fall in love. They don't love anyone except God.”

“Well, I swear _to_ God that unless you get out there and do it, I'll set my brother on you.”

Dean felt Sam get to his feet beside him, all three storeys of him, and the cupid looked up and up and _up_ and then nodded. “Okay,” he squeaked, and shot out of the dungeon.

“So now I'm curious,” Crowley observed, frowning. “What exactly happened with your bumbling angelic sidekick?”

“None of your beeswax,” Dean snapped, and followed the cupid to the library.

He got there just as the bow _twanged_ and Castiel, still slumped against a wall, jerked from the impact of the arrow. He recovered quickly, taking a deep breath, and looked up at Dean and the cherub steadily.

“Cured?” Dean asked, suddenly a little unsure. Did he really want Castiel to go back to his old self? Hadn't he enjoyed being the object of his lust? No, that was crazy – it had freaked him out. It had freaked Castiel out. It was freaky, end of story.

“I appear to be back to normal,” Castiel said, after a pause. He looked down at his bloodstained bandages. “Barring... well, this.”

“There's a story here, I can tell,” Crowley announced, entering the library and giving Castiel a quizzical look. “What happened? Did you throw yourself at Moose and get a blade to the belly for your troubles?”

“He wouldn't throw himself at _anybody,_ ” the cupid snapped, sounding exasperated. “I keep telling you, arrows don't affect angels! Why don't you believe me? I'm a professional, you know! I've been doing this since the dawn of Creation!”

“They're not supposed to affect demons, either,” Castiel said flatly. “And yet Crowley would say otherwise.”

The cupid glared at Castiel, who stared back at him evenly. And then he seemed to slump. “I give up,” he muttered. “Whatever you say. This has been a really weird week.”

“I will relay your concerns about your working hours to Heaven,” Castiel promised. “I do not condone your actions, but they did highlight an important oversight on our part. You cupids are overworked.”

The cupid's face broke into a huge, beaming smile. “Awww, thank you! That's so cool! I'm so pleased. I didn't do any of this maliciously, you know, and I really didn't like following demons around so I could enchant them. It wasn't fun.”

“Wait till you get a load of Hell,” declared Crowley, and suddenly they were both gone.

Dean blinked in their sudden absence. All these years and he'd never get used to the way demons and angels just snapped from place to place like that. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his wits and looked down at Castiel. “Are you sure you're okay?”

Castiel nodded. “I will be back to my usual self in a few hours. I just need to finish healing.”

“I'm so sorry, Cas,” Sam said unexpectedly. Dean turned to see him leaning on the doorframe, gazing at Castiel with an expression of abject misery. “I can't believe I attacked you like that. It really wasn't me, I hope you understand that.”

“I do, Sam, and you have nothing to apologize for. It was out of your control.”

“I could've killed you.”

“But you didn't, and that's all that matters.”

Castiel sounded wise and calm. Dean glanced at him, wondering if all this “I'm in love with you, Dean” stuff had been some kind of dream, but Castiel ignored him, gazing up at Sam with wide, clear eyes. After a moment, it seemed that something clicked, and Sam nodded.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said. “I'm so glad I can look at your ear again without... well, without.”

“I am very relieved too,” Castiel said, and he smiled slightly. “This has been a most peculiar experience.”

Sam grinned back, and Dean looked at them both and felt a combination of relief and tiredness sweep over him that was so strong he almost felt his knees give way.

“Okay, so we've established that you're both de-lusted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make love to my bed.”

 

* * *

 

Dean dreamed, and he dreamed hard. Literally.

He and Castiel were having sex in – of all places – a balloon store. They were rolling around the counter, knocking balloons into the air, feeling them bounce on their bare skin, making the occasional one go _BANG!_ as they banged. Castiel was making erotic, deeply sexual moaning noises as Dean kissed him, and his skin was smooth and sweaty under Dean's fingertips. He was trembling, shuddering like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, while Dean was hot and desperate – so very desperate – licking Cas's stomach and his knees and his cock. Then, just as Castiel was hard and firm in his mouth, and Dean was sucking him deliriously, amazed that he was so good at it given that he'd never done it before, Castiel licked his nipples and bent his head to suck on his dick, and suddenly the cupid appeared from nowhere and said “But angels don't love anyone!” and threw a disembodied ear at them, and Dean woke up with a mouth full of saliva and an erection that wouldn't quit.

He lay in the dark for a while, panting, and waited for things to settle down again because he just couldn't face actually _reacting_ to whatever weirdness had just been going on in his subconscious. When he finally felt able to think straight again, he went over to the sink and dunked his head in as much cold water as the basin would hold.

After that, there was no going back to sleep. Dean checked his watch – 4am – and sighed. He might as well give up and grab some coffee. He desperately needed a distraction. He'd just dreamed about Castiel having sex with him, for crying out loud – he needed all the distractions in the world. He should probably figure out what they were going to do next, him and Sam. They needed a hunt. Yup, that was definitely what he needed. That would take his mind off love spells and lusty angels and, well, ears.

What Dean had forgotten, however, was that Castiel was still with them. When he walked into the library, the angel was sitting at the table and staring off into the distance. He didn't seem to hear Dean, and honest-to-God jumped when Dean said, “Hey.”

“D-Dean,” Castiel gasped, blinking hard. For a moment, just a fleeting, irrational moment, Dean thought the look on his face was one of guilt, and he wondered if he'd been secretly tossing one off and had been caught red-handed. Only he hadn't, obviously. Firstly, he was fully clothed, his injuries healed and all the blood gone, and only his flustered expression was out of the ordinary. And secondly... he was Castiel. Of course Dean hadn't walked in on him having a sneaky tug-of-war with his danglies. The thought was preposterous.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked, trying hard to banish all thoughts of Castiel and sex entirely.

“I am fine,” Castiel replied. “Fully healed. Why are you up?”

“Weird dreams,” Dean said, and then narrowed his eyes as Castiel blinked rapidly again and looked away. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Dean froze. Hadn't Castiel been able to walk in his dreams, once? Hadn't he even appeared in them, at times? He hadn't done it for years, as far as Dean knew, but he definitely seemed guilty.

_No._

“Cas, what's eating you?” he asked eventually.

“I'm fine.”

“I don't believe you.”

Castiel looked down at his hands and fell silent.

“Right, come on, man, out with it.” Dean pulled out a chair and sat facing Castiel, feeling butterflies curling in his belly, but determined that he was going to get through this weirdness and out the other side.

Hell, if Sam could come back from wanting to fuck someone's ear, Dean could find out why Castiel was being evasive.

Castiel frowned at the floor. He was silent for what seemed like a long, long time, and then suddenly looked up and met Dean's gaze. “I was lying about the spell,” he said, his voice deeper than usual.

Dean caught his breath. “Lying?”

“Yes. It didn't affect me. Not in the slightest. The cupid was right: the arrows don't work on angels. I pretended he was wrong, but he was right.” He sighed. “I probably owe him an apology.”

“So...” Dean stopped, thinking furiously. “I don't get it, Cas. Why pretend you'd fallen in love with me? What, you didn't want Sam to feel alone? You were pranking me? I don't get it.”

Castiel looked away. “This is very awkward for me.”

“Yeah, well. This is very confusing for me.” Castiel was silent for so long that Dean clicked his fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey!”

The angel looked up at the ceiling, as though he was pleading for help from above. “Dean, I have always felt that way about you. From the very moment we met, in Hell. All the way until today. I have never felt anything else.”

Now it was Dean's turn to be silent. He couldn't even think.

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” said Castiel, looking him in the eyes again. “I have hidden it for so long. But you noticed. You saw me hit by that arrow, and you expected me to have fallen in love, and so you finally saw it in my eyes. And I went along with it, because I wanted to see what you would do.”

Dean stared at him, gobsmacked, and never had time moved so slowly.

“You said that I was the most important thing in the universe to you,” he said eventually, feeling the hairs on his arms stand upright.

“Yes,” said Castiel, matter-of-factly.

Dean swallowed. “But that's... how can I...” He ran a hand over his face. “Cas, this is huge.”

“I know. I am sorry,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “But when Sam stabbed me – Dean, he nearly killed me. He was aiming for my heart, and if I hadn't twisted at the last second, he would have hit it. I would have been dead, and I realized afterwards that I would've died with so many regrets. And not telling you how I felt would have been my biggest.”

Dean nodded, staring at him, but still unsure about what to say. His brain had never been so overwhelmed.

“I don't expect you to reciprocate,” Castiel continued, looking away. “That would be illogical. I know you are heterosexual, and I have never seen any evidence to the contrary.” He stopped. “Except for that actor... Dr Sexy? I believe that may have been an exception.”

Dean's brain briefly fired up again. “He was never the same after he shaved his head in season six,” he observed, knowing he sounded a little insane.

Castiel fell silent, staring at him. Dean stared back.

“I'm sorry,” the angel said, at last. “I just thought you should know. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me. Things can go on as before, and I will never mention it again.”

“I was dreaming,” Dean said, saying the first thing that came into his head. “There were balloons and we were making out, and the cupid was there. Were you in my head? Is that why you looked so out of it when I walked in? Were you dream-walking?”

Castiel's expression turned to one of confusion. “I was trying to listen to angel radio, but they were talking about something called _The Great British Bake-Off_. I couldn't understand why. Balloons? Why were you dreaming of balloons?”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shrugged.

“I haven't been inside your head for a long time, Dean. Your dreams are your own.”

“Good,” Dean said, relieved. But then it hit him: he'd had an erotic dream about Castiel. Nobody had made that happen except his own subconscious and, bizarre cameos from the cupid and a severed ear aside, it had actually been pretty damn nice. And hey, hadn't he been disappointed when Castiel had said the spell was broken? And hadn't he always liked Castiel's voice when it went so deep? And hadn't he enjoyed all those years of staring, and Castiel being by his side, and hadn't he been devastated all those times when the angel had been taken from him?

“I dunno if you're the most important thing in the universe to me, Cas,” he said at last, as Castiel gazed at him, looking as though Dean was about to kick his puppy. “But you're pretty fucking important. I think maybe you're in my top five. Hell, maybe even my top three. And I love you – although I'm not sure if I'm ready to go to another level or anything. At least, not yet. I need to get my head around it first.”

Castiel nodded slowly, looking a little startled. And then he smiled: a sweet, understanding, relieved smile, and Dean found he was staring at Castiel's lips, remembering how they'd felt on his nipples in the dream, and before he knew it he was leaning in and kissing them.

Castiel didn't even flinch; he leaned forward in return, and they kissed long and hard and wet, right up until Dean ran out of breath and had to sit back, panting a little.

“That was nice,” Castiel said, earnest.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It was.”

“Can we do it again?”

Dean took a deep breath. “I think maybe I need to think some more. But we will. Just not yet. I need more time.”

“I understand.”

They sat quietly for a while, staring at each other. It wasn't weird, and it wasn't uncomfortable, and Dean realized that he liked staring at Castiel.

Then the angel frowned at him, as though struck by a thought. “You said the cupid was in your dream,” he said. “Dean, you didn't do this with _him,_ did you?”

Dean grinned. “No, Cas. That's the cupidest thing I've ever heard.”

A long, puzzled pause.

“It's a pun. Just go with it, dude. Just go with it.”

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes:**

I apologise profusely for calling this fic _Cupid Stunt_. It's a reference to a character played by a British comedian named Kenny Everett in the 80s, and once it popped into my head I just couldn't think of anything else to call the fic. Oops.

For those wondering about [Honey Badger Just Don't Care](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg).

Objectiphilia is indeed [a real thing](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/2035996/Woman-married-to-Berlin-Wall-for-29-years.html).

 

And finally, given that the setting of this fic is sometime around 2015/16, I have chosen to ignore the fact that Twitter only enabled longer tweets more recently than that. It's a tiny continuity error, but I can live with it!

 

~ ~ ~


End file.
